Bragi read the note, passed it to Varthlokkur. The wizard chuckled humorlessly. „Lord Hsung must have been might ily impressed by the Invincibles."
Dantice had heard from his smuggler friends. Military debacle had rattled Hsung and his puppets. Throyen officers had been stripped of their commands. Soldiers had been executed for cowardice. Hsung had postponed southward expansion. The appearance of Invincibles had been unanti cipated. Their gathering had gone unnoted by Hsung's intelligence people, people who had the skills of the Tervola to supplement their more prosaic resources. Rumor said there would be a shakeup in Western Army's staff. Hsung suspected the existence of a traitor.
„Think that means trouble?" Ragnarson asked. „One of his people belongs to Mist."
„They've covered themselves."
„What about Norath?"
„Uhm?"
„We don't know why, but we know who, and we know where the son of a bitch is."
„One thing at a time. We have too many irons in the fire. We don't need a war with Megelin."
„Who said Megelin? I'm talking about Norath."
„And suppose he's got control of Megelin? Suppose we failed first try? He's a first-rate wizard. He wouldn't have survived the destruction of the Pracchia if he weren't."
„Megelin wouldn't declare war. We're supposed to be friends."
„Supposed to be. They say he's gone crazy. And now we know why."
„He can't. El Murid would climb his back."
„Let Norath ride. We're committed on this thing with Mist. And I've got a baby coming. You don't want to get embroiled with Norath if I can't be there. When it comes to choosing between helping you or being with my wife, you lose."
„Should've known better than to argue with you. I hope your critter gets this over with. If I don't watch them, the Thing will slip me an appropriation I'll cry about for years."
„Let Prataxis handle it."
„Crap. He don't bully as good as me. Hell, this whole business is his damned fault. He designed this stupid government."
„It works pretty good."
„Works great, long as I don't need something done before next month. I want to give one lousy damned medal to somebody, every son of a bitch in the Thing has to have his say."
„I haven't noticed you not getting your way."
„Yeah. But Derel's experiment with democracy is a damned nuisance."
„Strictly a matter of viewpoint. How about something to eat? Maybe tip a beer or two? It might be a long wait."
That night, in Throyes, Commander Western Army re ceived an informational brief from a friend in Ravelin's capital. Lord Hsung was unmasked at the time. His subordi nates thought him a humorless man, but he smiled and laughed a great deal while he read. His good humor lasted till he learned that he could not contact Lord Kuo Wen-chin.
10
Year 1016 AFE; Homecomings and Birthdays
Michael watched the latest band of hunters fade into the distance. They were searching hard. He gave them that. They were covering ground not logically within a fugitive's reach. He had amazed himself with the distance he had covered.
The stolen horse had been a good one. He had run her till she collapsed. He guessed he had made fifty miles. He had crossed the truly bad desert immediately north of Al Rhemish. Now he was in the arid southern foothills of the Kapenrungs. He had a slim chance of making it on his own, whether or not his pigeon got through.
He glanced westward. Still two hours till dark. Eight miles for a man on foot. And the savan dalage could not start after him before nightfall.
How long for them to catch up? He wished he knew more about them. Did he dare keep going through the night?
No. Too risky. Better fortify a position instead, before it got too dark to find firewood.
Scraggly plants covered the uninhabited hills. There was plenty of wood. The problem would be to find a place where the savan dalage could come at him from but one direction. Where a fire could bar that approach.
He spent an hour locating a marginally acceptable hole in the side of a stony wadi, or dry wash. It had been used as a shelter before. There were stick figures etched in the soft stone walls. They had a runic look. He supposed they were graffiti left by Jan Iron-Hand's proto-Trolledyngjans at the time of the Fall.
He gathered brush and wood till he could barely crowd himself in behind his fire line. He built a small fire from which to light his larger protector when the hunters came.
„The trick, friend Michael, will be to stay awake."
He amused himself with games he had not played since his Rebsamen days. He made up dirty limericks. He tried to remember each of the women he had loved. The list was shorter than his friends suspected. As that wore thin, the moon rose. He imagined characters in its blotchy face. Then he tried cataloging the constellations... .
He wakened suddenly, totally alert. Without thinking he tossed brush onto the embers of his fire. He puffed frantical ly. The sounds of claws on stone came ever closer.
The moon stood high. Had he looked into the wadi, he might have seen shadows moving among shadows.
He had slept for three hours.
The dry brush caught. He spread the fire fast. In moments ramparts of flame sealed his hiding place.
„Damn!" The heat was miserable. The back of the depression reflected it forward again. He lay on his stomach in his fuel pile and hoped he would not cook himself.
The first flare caused a chorus of angry snarls. Trebilcock thought there were four hunters. Their claws clicked. Angry ruby eyes glared through gaps in the flames. „I hope you're patient, boys."
They were. Till dawn threatened. Then they became ever more restless. Trebilcock wondered how intelligent they were. Would they realize that he could play this game almost forever?
Now they made sounds like none he had heard before, deep-throated sounds of rage. He pictured four oversized black tigers slowly losing their tempers, though he knew any resemblance to big cats was coincidental.
A pair of eyes drifted toward the fire. Though the beast was just beyond the fire, Michael could discern nothing of its size or shape. Norath meant them to be creatures of darkness, and they faded in perfectly.
What might have been a paw lightninged through the flames. It ripped air a finger's breadth from Michael's nose. He was tempted to throw rocks and taunt the beast, the way monkeys torment a leopard. He thought better of it. Some times the leopard got even.
Another beast reached in. This time Michael laid his blade along the flashing paw. The thing yelped, but Trebilcock knew he had not injured it seriously. Wounds bothered them very little. During the Great Eastern Wars only one means of handling them had been found. That required burying them too deep for escape.
The things growled among themselves and paced.
„Michael, old friend, I think you miscalculated. You should have kept going. They wouldn't have caught you before dawn. They're working themselves up to jump in here now."
Though the heat was murderous, he built his fires higher.
He was not afraid of death, but the pointlessness of its occurring here irked him. He had always expected a more useful end.
The growling and spitting hit a new note. They were ready. He braced himself, his sword poised to skewer the first monster through the fire.
The caterwauling changed tone. Michael could see noth ing through the intensified flames, but would have sworn that one beast's howls were fading into the distance.
The others were not pleased.